If the constitution states that we are all free and equal, why were some of us treated like property and made to suffer? We were submitted into this treacherous lifestyle where all we could feel was horror, despair, and anguish. We were riding an endless rollercoaster filled with torture and pain. They say all people have the same rights, yet we were humiliated, denigrated, treated disgustingly. They say no matter what race, religion or skin color we have, we shouldn't be discriminated against; we shouldn't be victims of racism. Despite everything we had to go through we never gave up, we never stopped fighting, because as individuals we had to stand up for what we wanted in order to have it. We knew we had to take risks, maybe even endanger our lives, yet everything we did was in order to have our freedom. Even with our thoughts clouded with fear and discouragement, we gave everything in order to achieve our goals. We fought for what we wanted and for what we believed in, because we knew things in our life, wouldn't come to us freely.

We did everything together; our love for each other had no boundaries, to the point where we would take a bullet for each other without thinking twice. I was a 14 year-old girl living with my father, mother, and younger brother. I never thought we would be separated, yet the day came, and I still remember it perfectly as if it happened yesterday. Before we knew it, we had been taken from our home, auctioned off like antiques to varieties of families, and obligated to work grueling hours in plantations, deprived from food and water most of the time. I haven’t seen my parents since that day, that horrible, heart clenching day. I still long for their console and touch, still wonder what might have happened to them. Fortunately, my 11 year-old brother was auctioned off to the same family, same plantation, as me. After our arrival to Savannah, Georgia; I turned mutinous; I despised to be given orders, to be made of some joke. I was strong willed, I liked having my way, not letting people tell me what to do, but I was oblivious to the consequences of my actions, to the point where I was almost beaten and whipped to death. I had to keep my brother safe, I could not leave him, and I could not bear him being sad. So I decided to comply more, but it wasn't going to stop me from fighting for what I wanted, yet I knew I had to do it in order to stay alive.

3 years had passed and our hope was obliterated, the faith that we had, had simply vanished in the hot humid air that possessed Georgia. My little brother and I were resilient, but every day the anxiety and misery was getting harder and harder to withstand, it was challenging to just not surrender, but in the midst of this darkness, I discovered within me a spark of light, a spark of determination that tugged me along to continue in this path I was on. It was all so sudden, this rare surge of confidence I felt throughout my body. I felt insuppressible, I was unstoppable. I dreamt of being free, of doing what I pleased. I refused to be called worthless anymore, being treated like an animal inside a cage, all cinched up. I refused to be destitute of my rights, but I knew I had to work diligently if I wanted to possess my liberty and be free. It was December, 1851, winter was already starting; the nights were getting colder and colder, almost too hard to sustain. We had been informed that around the vicinity there was someone coming, someone known as “Moses”, to be exact, but my brother and I never would’ve guessed that one of those nights we would hear that husky, yet beautiful voice outside our cabin. We knew what was happening, it meant more and more slaves were going to escape. There was talk about the preparations one had to do if you heard that voice outside your cabin so we got ready, got out, and before we knew it, we were in the woods.

The immense panic and terror we felt was indescribable, I thought I was going crazy; thought I had no trace of sanity left within me. My stomach was churning, I felt as if my heart was going to fall out of my head; the unease and concern kept rippling through my body. We grew restless and annoyed by the minute, our fatigue draining us down. We yearned for our proximate stop, wanting nothing but some warmth to contrast with this utterly horrible cold that surrounded us. We walked; God knows how many days, until we reached our first stop. Minutes passed and the door slammed in our faces, we were astonished, to say the least, as we knew we couldn’t hold out much longer, but nonetheless we kept going. We did our same daily routine for another few days, until we reached the second stop, where we were greeted cordially as if we were in our own home, made to sleep adequately so we could continue our extensive, gruesome journey.   So yet again we were in the darkness of the woods, traveling to some unknown place we knew nothing of. We heard stories about other fugitives like Thomas Sims, William and Ellen Craft, and Frederick Douglas, but none of us listened enough to care; we were drained from all the walking and we just wanted to get to our next stop. Near to our arrival, one of the fugitives stopped, pleading to go back, yet the woman wouldn’t let him, taking out her gun she said, “Go on with us or die.” The runagate hesitated, but reluctantly kept on walking behind us. Finally we reached Delaware, where we got new shoes, next was Philadelphia, where we took a train to get to New Jersey, and from there we went to New York, followed by Syracuse and last but not least Rochester, where we stayed with Frederick Douglas, the most famous of all the runaway slaves.

The best things in life won’t come to us freely; that’s why we work thoroughly to obtain what we want, and fight hard for what we believe in. We arrived in late December to St. Catherine’s, Canada, where we continued our lives with all the other fugitives that had come before, and with us. We all had to work to build our houses and get jobs, but at the end of the day we were rich with pride and gratification for what we had accomplished and made of ourselves. My brother and I got adopted by a husband and wife that had fled with us; we got established in this simple frame house, that we later built to make a home, and around the vicinity they sent both of us to school so we could get a proper education. Grateful enough for everything they have done for my brother and me, I still consider how our life with our real parents would still be if none of this had ever taken place. Nonetheless I couldn’t be more content and appreciative to be calling them my parents, being adoptive or not, and I realize now that for them, I would do anything, same as they’ve done for me. The woman who led us to freedom turned out to be a famous legend, named Harriet Tubman, who earned the gratitude of those who she helped escape and those who she inspired to do the same as her. For her I address great sentiment and forever in my heart will she be, as she encouraged us to move along even when we didn’t believe in ourselves, and because of her I am now free.